Tainted Snow
by Tempestt
Summary: Castiel retrieves his sword from that naughty demon Meg. Tag to 6X10 Caged Heat.


Disclaimer: I don't own or profit from Supernatural.

WARNING: Tag for 6x10 Caged Heat.

Tainted Snow

Crowley was still burning to ash when Meg slid the silver angel-killer off the vivisection table where Christian left it, and sidled out the back door. In the parking lot she thought about shucking her meat suit, but she liked how it tingled at all the wrong things, so she kept it on, cuts and all, and high-tailed it south. She cursed the angels' ability to blink in and out at will with their vessels intact. While hotwiring a Honda she wondered if Castiel hung Jimmy up in the closet, rumpled overcoat and all, when he popped up to heaven, only shouldering him on when he had to make the trip to this shithole called humanity.

In sheboygan she sucked on a cheerleader who tasted like confectioners' sugar, laughing at the irony as the girl squirmed beneath her. When she was done, her skin was flawlessly healed and the girl was still alive. Meg held her by the throat, but beneath the sugar she tasted snow and knew the angel was still sparking inside her. Meg touched her fingertips to her bloody lips while the girl ran screaming into the night.

She couldn't get away from Crowley's freak show fast enough. In Hell the blood ran black daily and you fell asleep to screams reverberating across your brain, but when Hell showed up topside, it creeped even her out. Hell wasn't supposed to be here. Hell was down, down, down where its claws couldn't get her, but Crowley's house of horrors reminded her of the soul-sucking evil waiting for her with open arms.

It was dawn two days later before she stopped running and checked into a dive hotel. Wearing a meat suit, meant dealing with all the maintenance. It had to be washed and brushed, pressed and ironed. She showered and dressed in the time it takes to violate a nun, her stolen knife tucked in her belt when she felt the brush of cool air across the back of her neck. The tiny hairs of her meat suit stood on end, and something tingled where it shouldn't. She whirled around, but he was already there, his face impassive, his cool, blue eyes reminding her of a bird of prey. Her hand flew up in instinct, her power pressing against him uselessly. He tilted his head and she swallowed, feeling like a helpless human as she tried to ward him off. He smelled like winter and mint and she wondered if his meat suit came with a self-cleaning warranty, and if so, where could she sign up? She filled her mind with useless thoughts, anything to cover for the fact that her meat suit was absolutely _dewy_ at the sight and smell of him. She smiled, hiding her fear behind red lips, round cheeks and dark, fuck-me eyes.

"How's tricks, flyboy?"

He looked her up and down, as if she was something he wanted to squash, and for the first time in a long time, she desperately wanted to measure up. Bile rose up her throat, and she had to press her lips together in a hard line to repress the pain he evoked. He slapped her hand aside, and slid into the last remaining inches between them, blocking any chance of an escape, all imposing and avenging, and all those words that made even the skin of her meat suit want to crawl away and hide. She fell back against the wall, trapped between a faux wood credenza and the door she oh so wisely bolted before showering.

"I know of only one trick."

A voice like his should be a sin. How did he manage to sound perplexed and intrigued all at the same time? He fitted his hands around her waist and tucked her up against him like she was something precious and delicate and meant to be loved instead loathed like the foul beast she was. Mesmerized, she watched as he lowered his mouth to hers. Her lips parted beneath his and his tongue licked its way in. It was the most aggressive thing about him. If his innate passivity drove her insane, his spontaneous dominance made her deranged. She melted beneath him, slumped against the wall, hanging on his arms woven around her narrow waist. Good God, how could an angel's kiss be so far from saintly?Her entire life she had feasted chocolate, dark, rich and cloying. Who knew vanilla could taste so sweet? So clean.

Something rushed through her, emanating from where their lips touched, sparking something deep and dark inside her, past the meat suit, past the pulsing heart and churning guts, right into the very core of her. It was bright and white, and felt like winter. When he drew away, the sensation receded with him. She almost couldn't stop her tiny whimper of protest, but she locked it down behind straight, white teeth, and a convulsing larynx. Something else stayed locked inside her with it. It was weak and fragile, bleaching her black soul just the tiniest bit. She hated it. She wanted to cut through the splintered, white breastbone of her meat suit, past the red, beating heart, and beyond. To keep carving until the light faded.

An eternity passed before she refocused. He was watching her, the tip of the angel-killer dimpling the pale skin of her breast. She looked at his fist, wrapped around the hilt of the silver blade, and wondered if the cuff of his white shirt and tan overcoat would be splattered with blood if he plunged it in, or if his cleaning warranty would keep him spotless even in the act of murder.

"Your ruse has its uses, if impractical."

She flashed a pretty smile, knowing that he didn't see it. He didn't see the meat suit, only the dark, swirling nothingness that was her.

She played with the brass buttons of his trench coat, looking up at him from under dark lashes. "I suppose that depends. I certainly got more than I bargained for."

"Demon's put too much stock in deals and bargains."

"What can I say? Like any woman I'm a bargain hunter at heart."

Her sly fingers trailed their way up his arm until they danced along the razor edges of the sword.

"Angels are possessive of what is theirs." He shifted his grip on the sword, drawing her eyes to the flicker of pale yellow lamplight on the silver blade. "It is a flaw we have yet to eradicate."

A demon would have been distracted by the swell of her breast over her black corset top, but the angel looked her in the eye as if she was more than just her parts. She arched a sarcastic brow and inwardly cursed how the meat suit's romantic heart did a flip in her chest. She was going to have to dump the body after all. Clearly, it had a mind of its own.

"Is that why Lucifer fell? He didn't want to share daddy with the humans?"

"He could not learn from his mistakes."

She felt a sermon coming on, and she would welcome Alistair's rack before subjecting herself to that torture, so she sidled closer, ignoring the bite of the knife as she dropped her small hand to his thigh. Her breath hitched when she felt something bone-hard and yearning.

"Looks like all angels don't have that particular flaw. Tell me flyboy, what else did you learn from the pizzaman?"

He shackled his fingers around her wrist, and flipped her around so she got an eyeful of badly embossed green and gold wallpaper. He must have sheathed his knife, because he wrenched her other arm up behind her, capturing both her wrists in one strong grip. Her top rode up and the pads of his fingertips slid along her bare skin, following the rise of her jeans till he found the button fly. With a yank, the buttons came undone, and her jeans and panties were dragged halfway down her thighs. She pressed her knees together to stem the sheer amount of _dewyness_ that welled up inside her, because no matter how much she enjoyed a good taboo anything, and nothing was better than good, old-fashioned angel on demon violence, there was absolutely something wrong with angel on demon _whatever the fuck this was._

"Careful, Cassie. We wouldn't want to do any besmirching now would we? Might stain something irreparably. Like those pretty white wings of yours."

With enough force to knock the breath from her lungs and make her libido sit up and do cartwheels, he bent her over the credenza so her bare ass waved lasciviously in the air.

To answer your query, the pizzaman taught me to punish the wicked."

When his palm slapped her ass, she jumped and gasped in pure unadulterated shock. A spanking was the last thing she had expected, even from an angel. When his hand contacted a second time, she bucked hard to get away, but he still hand her arms pinned at her lower back, and now he had his weight behind his grip to keep her in place. The third time she bared her teeth and snarled a string of foul language that would have made her father blush. It did nothing to deter him. The blows came steady and even, moving to a fresh area when her skin blossomed, bright red and burned like hellfire. She ran out of threats, so she clamped her teeth together till her jaw ached, turning her face to the wall to hide her tears. In Hell she had been tortured until her skin hung in shreds off her bones, but never had she been made to feel like this. Humiliated. Powerless.

Rejected.

Still she kept her mouth shut and refused to fly away in a swirl of smoke. She refused to run. Not from him. Not from the self-righteous angel that made her meat suit tingle in all the wrong ways.

It took her a moment to realize the sound of skin against skin no longer rang loud in the room. She blinked, as still as new fallen snow as he soothed his palm around the curve of her bottom and down her thighs, the tips of his fingers just barely missing her swollen lips. She closed her eyes, unsure of what to do. In all of her existence, no one had ever soothed away her pain. With every brush of his hand, her skin cooled, and the ache lessoned. Not just the ache on the outside, but the one deep on the inside as well.

He moved, and his jacket brushed against her. She felt his presence at her back as he leaned down to whisper in her ear. She thought of white, opaque ponds, crisp stalks of grass, and sparkling spirals of ice dancing from bare tree branches.

"In the end the pizzaman showed mercy."

Silky feathers caressed her bare bottom, before the air whooshed away. The emptiness where he once stood was heavy and silent. Slowly, she brought a hand up to wipe away her tears, her cheek still pressed into the wood grain of the credenza.

"I'm going to kill that fucking pizzaman," she whispered to the wall, trying to ignore the feeling of clean that pervaded her very being.


End file.
